


The Plans of the Fallen

by mathgeekgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4899028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathgeekgirl/pseuds/mathgeekgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer has fallen from heaven. The world descends into chaos and then despair as the fallen angels systematically destroy any evidence of a loving Creator. Fast-forward 12,000 years and meet Sam and Dean Winchester, the brothers fated, with the help of an angel or two, to end the war once and for all. The only problem is...well, it's family...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress and my first fan fiction. I do not have a beta reader, so my mistakes are my own. I will add tagging as I write.

Chapter One: The Beginning

Darkness covered Earth, shrouding its cowering inhabitants forever in darkness. He fell, fell to the deepest depths of the seas and the highest points of the mountains. Falling, he dragged with him his friends; they willingly followed his terrible plunge into the abyss of darkness. Starved, despondent, and writhing in the pain of eternal separation, they screamed in agony. The poor inhabitants of Earth shuddered at the sound of their shrieks. In their tortured finite minds, a plan was formed to injure the Creator, the Father, the One responsible for their torment. Twist Earth's inhabitants; destroy and distort the Creator's favorite children. Make His pain so terrible that He will be forced to concede, forced to relinquish His throne. We will forever be remembered as the ones who tore the Creator from his throne in the celestial palace. Such were their words in the dark places below the planet. They thought they chanted this song in secret, but a silent observer watched with care. The Creator will never fall to the banished ones, no matter the pain that He has to endure. The observer listened and heard all, every piece of the vile plot. In the blink of an eye, he flew from the world to the Creator's celestial palace.  


"My Father," said he, bowing low before his maker, "the troublemakers are devising a plot. They plan to..."  


"Yes, thank you, Michael, I already know," the Creator said sadly. He knew that this path might come, yet He had hoped that the fallen ones would not make such a decision. He knew when He created them, the path they would take, yet still, He had hoped that they would change that decision for a better road. He had hoped that they would choose to remain with him in the heavens rather than revolt and be sent down to the depths of the earth. He had hoped...  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  


"Jess, are you ready, yet?" Sam whined impatiently. "The theater starts in an hour!"  


"Oh, shut up! I'll be down in a minute!" Jessica yelled back at him. Even though they had only been married a year, things were getting a little rocky in their world. Divorce seemed like it was just around the bend to Jess; she did not know how much more of Sam's impertinence she could take. When they had first begun dating, he was loving and affectionate, but lately, he was cold and impatient. It seemed that she could do nothing right in his eyes. Even the meals that she took time out of her day to prepare for him were declared inadequate. The honeymoon was obviously over and looked like the marriage might be too. Jess sighed as she gazed into her mirror, her hair still a bit of a mess and her makeup not on quite straight. This will have to do, she thought to herself. If he doesn't like it, he can...  


"Jess! Let's go!"  


"I'm coming!" she yelled at him as she headed down the stairs of their two-story house. This house had belonged to Sam's father before he had died four years ago. Jess had never met them, but it seemed like she would never live up to the perfection of Mrs. Winchester, Sam's mother. Jess was always doing something different than the way she had done it.  


"Finally," huffed her husband as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Here is your coat. Now let's go."  


"Thanks," said Jess sarcastically as he helped her into her wool wrap and handed her the red purse. To many women this would seem like a wonderful and courteous gesture but not Jess. She felt that it was her right to be given the courtesy. After all, she cooked his meals, did his laundry, and made sure that his house stayed clean. As they left the house, Jess's thoughts strayed to her boss, Tyson Brady. He was a kind man who had gone to college with Sam, and, from what she had heard in the office, he had no family. She began to wonder where he was and what he was doing. As she got in the car, she would have been shocked if she had known that the subject of her thoughts was also thinking about her.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  


"It's almost time," the blood in the chalice gurgled as Tyson Brady gazed into it's swirling depths, "the girl must die soon if the wheels are to be put into motion." For once, Tyson or Brady, as he was called by his friends, was grateful that the office was so empty on a Friday night. The screams of his secretary went unanswered as he slit her throat. Blood and other...nasty business where just a part of the job description when you were a demon. Hopefully, her body wouldn't be discovered until Monday morning by which time Brady would have paid for an air-tight alibi. Things got so complicated when you had keep you meat suit intact and out of prison for long periods of time.  


"I don't understand," Brady responded, a wrinkle furrowing his brow, "the brothers are estranged. They haven't spoken since Sam went to college years ago."  


"You let me worry about that," the chalice whispered. "Just make sure the girl dies."  


"Yes, Master."  


With that, the chalice went still, and with the metal scent of blood still in the air, Tyson Brady began to plot the untimely end of one Jessica Moore-Winchester.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this is my first fan fiction. I do not have a beta reader, so please excuse any errors. I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters therein. Oh, I'm also figuring out the formatting code for my stories. If anyone has advice or suggestions, I welcome them.

Chapter Two: The Setup

"It is working," they hissed in the darkness of the night. "They are hurting him and He will soon relinquish the throne to us, the worthy ones." The children of earth had long since forgotten the Creator; the fallen had seen to that. Soon after their descent they had begun the brutal and systematic eradication of any and all who worshipped the Creator. Scrolls were burned, temples demolished, and all evidence of a higher power obliterated. It may have taken a few thousand years (the faithful were resilient after all), but all too quickly darkness engulfed the planet, moral thought abandoned. Oh, a few of the faithful had escaped, of course. With millions of inhabitants, one or two humans were bound to escape and slip through the cracks. It was inevitable, but after two thousand years of silence, the fallen were certain of their success.  


Meanwhile, high in the heavens, the Creator looked down with pain-filled eyes. It was true. His subjects were hurting Him, but still He did not relent, nor did He enforce His perfect will upon them. Michael, standing next to the Creator's throne, glowered at the naïve inhabitants of Earth. They were surrounded by beauty but were blind to it. The Creator's fingerprints were evident everywhere, yet they did not believe He existed. They stole, lied and murdered without remorse. They forgot the One they should worship for the ways of the fallen ones. They forgot what life was like before the Deceiver fell. Every misdemeanor, every law that was broken, every child that was hurt, hurt Him too.  


"My Lord," Michael growled as he watched the evil occurring on Earth and the pain it inflicted on the Creator. "Allow me to take a legion down and teach these men a lesson. Let me teach them how to behave."  


"No, Michael!" the Creator barked. "Stay your hand. They are unaware they do wrong." Michael took a step back in surprise before He explained. "They are doing evil. They allow themselves to be influenced by the fallen ones, but they deserve a second chance, Michael. Can you give it to them?" Ashamed by his rash behavior, Michael turned his face away from the world below and began to weep softly. Wordlessly, the Creator engulfed him as one would a child, wrapping Michael in the light of His love. As He held Michael, the Creator cried too, not because of shame, but because the pain the fallen and His children were causing him was great and terrible. He watched through His tears as the fallen ones tormented the inhabitants to do evil. He winced every time one of His subjects was hurt or was hurting someone else. It was almost time. He was almost ready to give them another chance. Almost.  
  
...  


As the orchestra played, Jess watched her husband. His head was beginning to droop as the music got softer and softer. Pretty soon, he was asleep, his face innocent and years younger. Too bad he won't be like that when he wakes up. Jess thought. It had become imbedded in her mind that her husband no longer loved her, that he was a cruel man who cared nothing for her. These thoughts were not her own, however, they were the work of the fallen ones. Her need for love and acceptance they preyed upon mercilessly.  


“There is one,” they said, “who could fill your needs.” A single word entered her tormented brain. Brady. He was kind and cared about everyone at the office; surely he would care about her.  
“He is your only chance,” they told her, “for true love. You have no other choice.” Sam stirred in his seat, and Jess stiffened, afraid, however unrealistically, that he was able to read her thoughts. As the music ended, he awoke, drowsy and disoriented.  


"Time to go, Sam," said she as patiently as she could. It was not easy for her to deal with Sam civilly now that she had made her shocking little 'discovery'.  


"Yes, dear," Sam replied as he rolled back over in his seat and went back to sleep. Jess just rolled her eyes. It was always a challenge to get him out of bed in the morning, but this was just plain embarrassing. As people were starting to leave the theater they began to notice her husband fast asleep in his chair. Jess flushed just to think of what they must be saying about them.  


"Sam, get up now," she hissed at him through clenched teeth as she tried to pick his six foot four inch frame up out of the chair. Suddenly, as if prodded by some unknown source, he woke up with a start and looked at her sheepishly as he wiped the sleepies from his eyes.  


"Ummm... why don't we go?" he finally said after an awkward pause full of irate glares from Jess.  


"Yes, why don't we?" said she through her still clenched teeth.  


Sam grimaced under her piercing glare and slowly stood up. His legs had fallen asleep from his little nap, and he was having a hard time waking them up. Despite his temporary disability, he moved quickly down the empty aisle, long void of other people, and after Jess who was walking away from the source of her embarrassment as fast her long legs would carry her. She marched straight out the double doors of the auditorium, nearly bowling the usher over in her hurry, right to the coat check. Still ignoring Sam, Jess went directly to the car and sat fuming as her husband, considerably slower after his nap, apologized to the usher and retrieved his coat. As he got in the car, Jess tried to ignore him but to no avail.  


"Do you try to embarrass me?" she asked, her blue eyes snapping menacingly. Sam was shocked at her outburst and glanced at her sharply, jerking the steering wheel as he did. He knew that this argument was coming but he had assumed that he had a few days before it reared its ugly head. As he watched with anger and confusion, Jess's face turned from blatant anger to sheer fear and panic. The bright headlights of a truck filled their car as it plowed into its driver's side. Brady was Jess's last thought as she was plunged into darkness.  
  
...  


Brady slowly put on his jacket in preparation to leave. He paused a moment by the front door and looked back at the little cubicles that dotted the office. Perfect, he though to himself, she isn't visible from here, and the nightwatchman never checks the back offices. He swiveled on his foot and turned off the lights. Only the red theft-alert lights and the faint moonlight shining through the barred windows lit the small building. As he walked out the door, Jess once again entered his mind. His minions should be more than capable of...removing her person from the big picture. After his discussion with Azazel, Brady had called some of his underlings to dispose of Jessica as soon as possible. When Azazel said jump, it was his job to ask how high. After a few centuries under Azazel's more persuasive techniques, the chain of command was clear in Brady's mind. It is unfortunate that it had to be Jess. I would have liked to have kept her for myself. A few centuries with me and she would have made a gorgeous demon. Her snapping blue eyes and bright smile had entranced him from the first moment that he met her at Stanford. He thought of all the workdays that she had come in, hot coffee in hand and messy hair flying behind her. She'd throw down her briefcase that more often than not had papers sticking out of it and run into his office apologizing and babbling about how "it would not happen again, Mr. Brady, I'm so sorry, Mr. Brady", and on and on. Oh, well, orders were orders. Maybe if he did well enough Azazel would let him have some fun with the new college interns at the bank. He quickly exited the small building, eager to get home, which was only a few blocks away, and out of the cold. Compared to hell, everything, even California, is cold. As he walked toward him apartment, the screeching of brakes and a horrific crash shattered his thoughts. Brady turned and began sauntering toward the site of the crash. Tom has always had a flair for the dramatic, but at least he's efficient, he thought to himself as he realized that the car was belonged to Jess. He could see two bodies in the car and a dark figure running away from the wreck. Glancing around, he was pleased to see he was the only witness. Help should take plenty of time to get there; Brady just had to make sure Sam made it and Jess didn't.  
  
...  


Ellen Harvelle turned off her TV and sighed, her heart heavy from the loneliness that filled the apartment above her bar, the Roadhouse. Her daughter, Jo, had left home recently for parts unknown, and the emptiness in her house seemed at times too much to bear. She sighed and finished off the rest of the whiskey in her glass before heading to her bedroom. As she got ready for bed, her thoughts were turned toward the things of the past, past Christmases and Thanksgivings, past birthdays and reunions. The darkness seemed to close in around her as they taunted.  


“No one cares about you,” they said. “Not even your kid cares about your existence.” For a short instant, she believed them. Jo hadn't called; she hadn't even talked to Ellen since Jo walked out in the middle of their fight.  


“There is nothing for you,” they once again whispered to her as she pulled the covers around herself. “There is no one here for you anymore.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Supernatural or the characters therein. This is my first fanfic so please forgive any errors. I'm going to try to update once a week, but last week was hell for me at work so I'm a bit late and it's a bit short. Next week, I'm hoping to introduce Dean. Anyway, enjoy.

Chapter Three

Sam slowly blinked, his vision swimming as he slowly regained consciousness. He could vaguely hear the blaring of the car horn over the ringing in his ears. The entire left side of the Winchester's Prius was crushed beyond recognition. The force of the impact had destroyed the engine block and most of the driver's side of the compact car. The laminated glass windshield had blown into the vehicle and was fortunately still intact but resting partially on Sam's chest. The side windows, however, had shattered on impact, filling the small car with flying shards of tempered glass and leaving both Sam and Jess with hundreds of small cuts. The truck was in slightly better condition, the left front door and shattered windshield still connected to the body of the vehicle, but the driver was no where to be found, having already run off into the night. Searing pain ripped through Sam's head as he tried to turn to see if Jess was alright. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a dark figure leaning over his wife. Blood slowly trickled down his forehead, blurring his vision, as he tried to warn away the menacing silhouette, but all that came out was a rough gurgle before he succumbed back into darkness.  
...  


"Sir, can you hear me? Sir?" A bright light flashed in his eyes as Sam was jerked back into awareness. He quickly began to panic when he was unable to move. "Sir, you need to calm down. You've been in a car accident. We're moving you into the ambulance now," the EMT explained hurriedly.  


"My...my wife.." Sam gasped has he was jostled on the backboard.  


"We've got her, sir; just try to stay conscious. What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"  


"Sam...Sam Winchester. Just get Jess. You have to save Jess," was the last thing Sam said as he was loaded into the ambulance and the pain overcame him.  


"We have a white male, late twenties with a grade three concussion, neck trauma and multiple broken bones, lacerations and contusions. Route patient to Chicago Mercy Hospital." As the ambulance departed, the EMT turned to his attention to his colleagues and Jess and began looking for life signs.  
...  


"Ellen? 'S Bobby."  


"Bobby, been a while since you called. What's going on?" Ellen asked cautiously. The last time Bobby had called her private phone, her husband hadn't come home. If Bobby was calling, something bad had happened. "Did something happen with Jo? Is she alright?"  


Bobby huffed slightly in annoyance. Ellen was tough as nails, but where her daughter was concerned she was just like every other mother. "Jo's fine, physically anyway. Had a real rough case down south. Idjit didn't ask for backup until a couple of kids went missing. We found them a little too late."  


"Yeah, and what do you want me to do about it? That girl walked out on me, you remember. I didn't want her hunting, didn't want her seeing what y'all see and she insisted." Harsh anger filled Ellen's voice. If Jo wasn't hurt, she could be as mad as she wanted at the stubborn little fool. Hunting was for grown men with guns and machetes not little girls with pocket knives.  


Bobby was quiet for a while before he responded softly, "She may have walked out on you, but that girl needs her mama now. Those kids were in bad shape when we found 'em, and she's takin' it real hard, Ellen."  


Ellen's response was hushed. "Alright." There was a pause. "Where is she, Bobby? You in Sioux Falls?"  


"I brought 'er back to the yard before I called you. When should we be expecting ya?"  
Ellen blew out a frustrated breath. Bobby knew her a little too well. Of course she was going to Sioux Falls. No matter how upset she was with Jo, she wasn't about to abandon her only child. They'd been through too much together for that. "Imma 'bout five hours from you. I can probably make it in four, if I need to."  


"Not worth you gettin' in an accident, Ellen. We'll see you in five hours." With that Bobby hung up, and Ellen grumbled under her breath as she made her way downstairs to wake up Ash. As per usual, the mullet-headed genius was passed out on the pool table. Ellen shook her head fondly. If she didn't know Ash was a computer whiz, he would look like another sleeveless stoner trapped in the 1980s.  


"Ash, sweetie, you need to wake up," Ellen said as she prodded Ash awake.  


"I'm up..." Ash slurred sitting up slightly before slumping back down on the pool table with his arm over his eyes.  


"Now!" Ellen impatiently shook Ash until the genius had no choice but to wake up. When she was sure she had his attention, Ellen explained. "I have to visit Bobby in Sioux Falls. Take care of the bar for me. I shouldn't be gone for more than a few days."  


"Right, boss." Ash saluted before passing out once more on the pool table. Sighing in frustration, Ellen gave up and left the bar to pack. It was a lost cause to wake Ash up before noon, anyway. Hopefully, he would remember to open the bar tonight. If not, she would just have to call and ride his ass from Bobby's house.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

It was supposed to be an easy hunt. All the signs pointed to a wendigo--the missing campers, the bloody claw marks on trees and even the centuries-old timeline. It should have been easy, but when does a hunt ever go exactly as planned? The creature they were hunting wasn't a wendigo; John knew that now. No, instead he and Dean had tangled with an Asin, a Native American cannibal that was said to lure children and adults to her lair before consuming them. And here John had thought that Hansel and Gretel was a legend. It turns out that this Asin began as female shaman who then developed a taste for human flesh. Like a wendigo, the consumption of human flesh over the centuries gave the Asin superhuman strength and speed. Unlike the wendigo, however, the shaman was able to use her magic to become a master of disguise, taking the form of a beautiful woman before slicing her prey to ribbons with her razor sharp nails. This particular Asin had taken to tricking campers into giving her shelter by posing as another lost hiker. While everyone slept, she would kidnap the children, starting with the youngest, and whisk them back to her home in the forest. If there was enough time, she would go back for the adults, but she always took the children first. The adults were then massacred. Even the strongest among them were unable to fight back against the Asin--she was too fast and far too powerful. Their corpses were subsequently dragged back to join the children before being prepared like venison for the winter. 

Dean and John had tracked the Asin back to her hovel, an old abandoned miner's cabin, and that's when things went wrong. The bitch was a shaman, a witch, and a powerful dark one at that. She had used her craft to increase her formidable powers and conceal herself from ordinary humans. Her relaxed form was monstrous to behold. Lank dark hair and jaundiced skin hung off the creature, so corrupt she could no longer be called human. Her nails had grown to an extreme length and were filed to sharp points to increase their deadliness. Dean never saw the blow coming, the Asin jumping him and bashing him over the head as he was bent over. One minute he was picking the rusted door lock, and the next he was unconscious and on the ground. John was able to squeeze off a few shots at the attacking Asin, but each one missed. Hissing out a cursing spell, the Asin grinned wickedly as she sliced into Dean with her deadly nails. Dean screamed in agony as four long lines of blood erupted along his side. Horrified, John snatched up his eldest and retreated back to the Impala as fast as his legs could carry him. As he ran John tried keep Dean's head steady while applying pressure to the gouges that were steadily draining Dean of blood.  
...

"What are you doing here, Angel of Thursday?" Raphael asked, his deep voice booming across the heavens. His primary wings were raised in warning, his secondaries covering his body and the third set hiding his feet as a sign of respect. Like all Seraphim, Raphael had three sets of wings. Electricity and power crackled along their length as the Archangel stared at the malak in front of him.

"The Creator and Michael summoned me," Castiel humbly replied, his single pair of white wings tucked over his feet. He had received the orders while watching the Fallen with his garrison. Anael, or Haniel as she was more commonly called, had been furious that her garrison was to hold their position and become Watchers, of all things. The malakim were warriors; their purpose was to further the triumph of good over evil, not stand-by as the Fallen destroyed the world. After almost two thousand years of watching, Castiel was anxious to draw his sword against the Whisperers and Authorities within the Fallen ranks. Despite his eagerness, Castiel was wary of showing emotion before one of the strongest in the heavenly host. After all, it was the deep emotions of pride and envy that led to the fall of the Morning Star, Lucifer. 

Raphael carefully considered the angel before him before allowing Castiel to pass. The Throne of the Creator was sacred above all else and guarded jealously by the Seraphim and Archangels. Castiel entered the throne room, his head bowed in deference to his maker. 

"Castiel," a warm voice rumbled across the room as Castiel knelt before the Creator. The throne room was filled with rainbow-light, most of which was emanating from the Creator and his Seraphim while the rest sprang from the seven golden lamps surrounding the throne. The throne itself had been carved from a deep blue stone when the world was new and was veined with gold and raw gems. At the foot of the throne was a looking glass the size of an ocean and encased in emeralds, displaying glimpses of the earth and its inhabitants so far below. Seraphim and Cherubim encircled the throne, singing of joy and heartbreak, fear and hope, deep love and devotion, their wings rustling and suffusing the air with sound of wind and the smell of burning incense.

"Come here, Castiel," the Creator beckoned. Castiel shuffled forward onto the looking glass, his eyes still downcast, until he could see the foot of the throne and gazed into the world below.  
...

Dean groaned in the backseat, shaking John from his thoughts. His green eyes, _so like Mary's_ , were closed in pain and his dark blond hair matted with sweat and blood. Between the certain concussion and deep gashes from his ribs to his hip, Dean was barely holding on to life. Cursing to himself, John pushed the accelerator on the Impala, the needle of the speedometer passing 80 and moving quickly towards 90 as he rushed his oldest to Chicago. He had to go after the Asin as soon as possible; Dean would be safe in Chicago with his brother while he recovered. "You're going to lose him, too, just like Mary." The whispered words taunted him. "Your son is going to die because of your vendetta, your revenge, your haste. You can't save him, and you couldn't save Mary." _Just a little further, Dean,_ John thought to himself. _Don't leave me, too. Hang on._


End file.
